


Whatever Happened To Those Heroes?

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Arthur, Emergency - Freeform, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Conditions, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur couldn’t work out why everyone on this entire sodding campus was hell-bent on annoying the fuck out of him with stupid pseudonyms when they ordered their coffee, instead of just giving him their first names, like normal people. But he was willing to bet that Morgana was at the bottom of it all, somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever Happened To Those Heroes?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Что случилось с героями?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6852586) by [bitter_zephyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_zephyr/pseuds/bitter_zephyr)



> Rated Teen and Up for moderate swearing and sexual references. 
> 
> I created this fanwork for love, not money. They're not my characters, and I'm not getting paid.

“Latte for Loki.” Grimacing rather than smiling, Arthur handed over the cup. “Pumpkin spice latte for Captain America. And chai latte for Hermione Granger.”

That was the fifth Hermione Granger today. God. This was even more annoying than last week, when they’d all pretended to be premiership footballers. He’d only twigged that one when a pair of girls he vaguely recognised had claimed to be Harry Kane and Sergio Aguero.

Arthur couldn’t work out why everyone on this entire sodding campus was hell-bent on annoying the fuck out of him with stupid pseudonyms when they ordered their coffee, instead of just giving him their first names, like normal people. But he was willing to bet that Morgana was at the bottom of it all, somehow. It was just the sort of pathetic, vindictive little prank that she would play to get him back for the Great Mochaccino Disaster. Trust her to blame him for something that was not actually his fault.

“Vanilla latte grande with an extra shot for Superman.” Superman? Someone was feeling full of themselves. He rolled his eyes, shoving the fulfilled order sheet into the bin.

Come to think of it, maybe Morgana was sore after Arthur had accidentally on purpose redirected all her stupid _The Mathematics of Shakespeare_ blog links to a YouTube clip of “No More Heroes?” by the Stranglers. Which was totally her own fault for rickrolling his _Law Today_   blog like that.

There was a scoring card up on the Mathematics Department noticeboard, apparently, or was it some kind of bingo card? He only knew that, because Gwaine had mentioned it at football practice. He’d have to go all the way out there and rip it down. But she'd only put another one up. Bloody Morgana.

He had to hand it to her, though. It was possibly the most annoying thing that she’d ever done, easily trumping the drawn-on moustache incident. It was bad enough that he had to work weekends to pay his way through law school, what with Uther cutting him off like that. His cousin didn’t have to make it all worse by plaguing him at work, for God’s sake.

He sighed and looked at the next set of orders from Lance. Thankfully they seemed reasonably sane--at least, until one of the the customers came over to pick up her four drinks, and he realised that the pretty girl with long ringlets and dimples definitely wasn’t Ross Barklay.

“You’re a week late,” he said, handing over her cappuccinos. “Premiership footballers were last week. This week it’s super-heroes, apparently.”

“I’m an Everton supporter,” she said, with a flirtatious twinkle. “He is my super-hero.”

“Well, I wish you’d all stop. It’s bugging the hell out of me.” Arthur fished around in his pocket for a pen and paper.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tilting her head to one side, eyes going all dark and sympathetic.

“It’s not your fault. Look.” Arthur sighed. “Do me a favour. Tell bloody Morgana Pendragon or whichever of her evil henchpeople put you all up to this that the next person who comes in pretending to be a superhero will get rancid milk thrown over them. ”

Scribbling on the paper, he ripped off a sheet and stuck it on the till.

“And that’s a promise.” This last, he shouted out to the entire cafe, glaring at each of them in turn.

“We thought it was a bit of fun,” said Ross Barkley gently. “I’m Gwen, by the way. And Morgana was wrong about you. Sefa was right. You’re dead sexy when you’re angry.”

“Wha--?” Arthur was sure that he should have been able to concoct a hilarious come-back for that, but it had been a long day, so he just stared, mouth open, while she fluttered her lashes at him.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he said, eventually.

“Oh very funny,” she said, with a giggle. “Barking, Barklay, geddit?”

Nonplussed, he shook his head. Her face fell.

“I’m afraid the real Ross Barklay would be more my type,” he said gently. Or Gerard Pique, he added in his head. In fact, Gwaine had promised to set him up with someone who looked, as Gwaine claimed, just like Gerard Pique. Tall and fit with blue eyes and dark hair, apparently. Arthur was looking forward to it.

“Bugger!” Gwen pouted. “Bloody typical. All the good ones are gay.” She side-eyed Arthur’s colleague, Lance. “What about your handsome friend, then?” She raised an appreciative eyebrow as she nodded towards him, looking for all the world like Gwaine did when he eyed up pretty girls.

“What? Oh, he’s straight. Go for it.” She was so hopeless at doing the whole demure thing, that he couldn’t help smiling back at her. “But I have to warn you that he’s a trainee vet, and intends to own a menagerie. So if you’re not fond of puppies, forget it…”

“Puppies?” She actually squealed, and clapped her hands. “I love puppies!”

Turning round for a moment to see where the noise came from, Lance stood, staring at Gwen as if thunderstruck.

“Hello,” he said at last, a visible blush stealing up his cheeks.

In reply, Gwen just simpered. Arthur hadn’t realised what simpering actually was, until now. It seemed to be some sort of complicated mixture of hand-clasping and eyelash-fluttering.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” He rolled his eyes. “I mean it about the rancid milk, though.”

While Lance and Gwen flirted during the next lull, he busied himself for a good twenty minutes, putting warning signs up round the room. And they must have worked, because it wasn’t until his next shift, two days later, that a beanpole with cheekbones walked in.

“Black tea,” said the beanpole. A sliver of pink tongue popped out to moisten plump lips. Arthur followed the movement, mesmerised. “Soy milk on the side.”

“And whose name shall I put on the cup?” Pen poised, Arthur raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“Name? Oh!” Beanpole smiled, a delighted expression that charmed his eyes and his cheeks, and made his whole face light up. “I see! I’m Merlin,” He looked at Arthur through a shy fan of mocha lashes.

It was a shame, really. The bloke had jet-black, just-out-of bed hair, and a dusting of scruffy stubble that made him look perfectly shaggable. And lips. God. The sight of those full, moist-looking lips made Arthur actually salivate. But Arthur was bold and resolute. He wasn’t the kind of man who let a pretty mouth, blue eyes, and slim waist distract him from important resolutions. He wasn’t Gwaine, for God’s sake!

Merlin was a super-hero name, even if it was a pants one, and he wasn’t going to stand for any more of that nonsense.

Pursing his lips, he reached behind him for the open jug of old milk and doused the so-called Merlin with it. Quickly, before he could change his mind. White liquid foamed out all over his ears and dribbled down onto his faded t-shirt.

“Sorry, house rules,” he said, calmly, pointing at the large notices behind him. “No fake super-hero names, or you get doused in milk”

“Merlin is my actual name, you prick!” After a couple of seconds of open-mouthed glaring, Merlin abruptly stripped off his milk-drenched t-shirt, revealing a slender but well-muscled torso and pale, toned arms, and started dancing about. He grabbed a bunch of napkins and dabbed wildly at his hair with them. No-one was laughing; the cafe was quiet, staring at Merlin in shock.

“You arsehole,” Merlin said, voice sounding hoarse. “Fucking hell. Are you a psycho? I’m allergic to milk, you utter prat.”

“But…” Arthur stood helplessly watching “What? I didn’t…Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Well don’t just stand there, you twat!” Merlin thrust a bag into his hands. “Help me get all traces of the stuff off my skin, and find my bloody epipen!” Red splotches darkened his face, and pale shoulders, and his breathing sounded suddenly harsh. “Shit. I can feel myself reacting already. That’s assault, you wanker.”

“But… Milk allergy? I didn’t even know that was a thing!” Arthur felt panic flood through him. It had been touch and go that time when Morgana had erupted in hives after kissing a bloke who'd been eating peanuts. Arthur could still remember how he'd felt when her lips started to go blue. "I thought you had to drink it to react! I'm so sorry!"

“Well that makes me feel much better,” said Merlin, managing to sound sarcastic through his gasps, and then he started sneezing. “Epipen!” he gasped.

Quickly, Arthur led Merlin to a chair. “Call an ambulance,” he yelled at a nearby customer, as he dived into Merlin’s bag. Retrieving the epi-pen, he swiftly uncapped it, and, holding it in his trembling fist, buried the business end into Merlin’s thigh.

“Hold it there, for ten seconds,” Merlin wheezed, his chest heaving.

The cafe had fallen silent, but in the distance Arthur heard the wail of an ambulance, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Just then, the tinkle of a bell announced the entry of another customer. Looking up, Arthur saw that it was Gwaine, and his heart sank.

“Arthur, Merlin!” Gwaine drawled. “I was going to introduce you two, but I see that you’re already getting along famously! Didn’t expect you to get Merlin’s kit off quite so swiftly, though. Good going, mate!”

“Shut up, Gwaine.” Without looking up again, Arthur gently pulled away the epipen. When Lance brought over a bucket full of warm soapy water and a cloth, Arthur sponged flecks of whey off Merlin’s hair with shaking hands, and prayed for Merlin’s breathing to stabilise. “Fuck, Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“Stupid prat,” whispered Merlin, eyes fluttering closed. His lips looked puffy and swollen.

“Stay with me,” said Arthur, swallowing down a rising tide of alarm. “You’re going to be fine.” When would that ambulance arrive?

“You’ll get the sack,” said Merlin, his voice sounding thick and indistinct.

“Don’t give a shit.” Arthur slid onto the floor, and cradled Merlin’s clammy body against his while Lance and Gwaine emptied the cafe. “Stay with me, Merlin. Come on.”

 

*

After enough visits to the accident and emergency unit at Camelot hospital, one starts to get quite familiar with the procedures. And so, it was with a sense of _deja vu_ that Merlin found himself being wheeled through the doors, oxygen mask clamped to his face, drip attached to the back of his hand. He even recognised the consultant, and lifted his hand to wave at her as she eyed him in stern admonishment.

But this was certainly the first time that he’d been accompanied by a gorgeous blond prat with bitten-pink lips and a tense-looking jaw that Merlin just wanted to soothe with a quick pass of his hand. Or lips. Or, well. Probably shouldn’t go there. So, this was the guy that Gwaine had tried to hook him up with. The anally-retentive twat from the coffee shop that the entire maths department had been raving on about for weeks. Gwen had been quite enraptured - that is, until she’d switched her allegiances abruptly a few days ago, and become joined at the hip to a third-year vet.

He’d only gone to the coffee shop at Gwaine’s insistence, knowing that it was exactly the sort of place where his unfortunate contact allergy could wind him up in trouble.

“Is he going to be okay?” said Arthur to the conultant. He’d insisted on accompanying Merlin to A & E. Maybe he was scared of being prosecuted for assault? Although that wouldn’t explain why Arthur was still holding Merlin’s hand, nor the oddly gentle way that he’d toweled Merlin’s hair dry. Maybe Merlin had imagined that bit.

“Allergies are notoriously unpredictable, sir,” said Dr Gawant, frowning at him. “Now, if you’ll please let your boyfriend’s hand go, I can conduct an examination.”

“Oh! Of course!” Arthur released his hand as if he’d been burned. “But he’s--oh!” He stood there, glowering, while the doctor wheeled Merlin into a cubicle.

The really weird thing, the kind of sweet thing, the thing that made Merlin’s heart race even more than the epinephrine and the nerves and the whole surreal near-death thing, was that Arthur was still there when he came out, and didn’t even tell the doctor that he actually wasn’t Merlin’s boyfriend, even though he’d been about to, Merlin was sure of it.

All worried lips and sturdy thighs. A welcome distraction from the usual hospital misery.

It was the first thing that Merlin asked him about, as soon as he’d ditched the oxygen mask and was sitting on the ward hooked up to monitors.

“Why are you staying?” Merlin said, still feeling hoarse and thick-tongued. “I’m going to be okay. And it’s all right, I realise there’s no point suing you. You’re a student, like me. We don’t need to beat each other up in court and give any grasping, thieving lawyers any of our cash. Rich wankers. Right?”

“Right!” Arthur let out a surprised laugh, his eyes morphing into delighted almond shapes. His hand came up to cover his face, and he lifted his head up, chuckling at the ceiling, with his hands in his hair.

“Right. What’s so funny, anyway?” Merlin stared, a bemused grin tugging at his lips.

God. Arthur was gorgeous, when he laughed like that. Merlin could definitely see what all the fuss was about. All that terrible uptightness melted away and was replaced by a boyish mischief that made Merlin’s pulse jump.

“Nothing.” Sobering, Arthur looked back at him. “It’s just that I’m studying law, that’s all. So, not only have I nearly killed you today, it seems like I’m about to become a member of the group that you despise above all others.”

“Oops!” Trust Merlin to put his foot in his mouth. “I’m sorry. But you did spoil your murder attempt by wielding that epi-pen like a pro.”  His laugh turned into a cough, nasty heaving hacks that made him tremble and his eyes water. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Are you ok?” said Arthur. His solicitous hand felt warm, rubbing circles on his back until the spasm passed.

“Better, thanks.” said Merlin, although his eyes still felt wet.

“Yeah. It’s a shame I tried to kill you though, really, given that I fancy you rotten.” Arthur’s eyes were serious now. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that you asking me out? Bit sneaky, doing that while I’m hooked up to a heart rate monitor!”

“That’s us lawyers for you.” A sweet smile hovered about Arthur’s lips. “Sneaky.”

“All right then,” Merlin grinned back. “I’ll go on a date with you. But only if you promise not to try to bump me off this time.”

“How about if I promise to get you off instead?” Arthur grinned then bit his lip, as if he had just realised what he’d said. “Wait! I didn’t meant to presume. I mean--”

Merlin couldn’t help smiling. “Are you this smooth with all the boys?”

“Only the really cute ones.” Arthur’s blush really accentuated his cheekbones, and the startling blue of his eyes. “Fuck. I’ve really ballsed this up, haven’t I? I’ll go--”

“No, wait!” Merlin grabbed his hand. “You can’t go, now. I forbid it.”

“Okay.” Arthur nodded, his colour settling. “But allow me to take you home. When they let you out of here, I mean.”

“I’d like that.” Settling his head back onto the pillows, Merlin felt his own colour rise.

  
  


*

“Skinny latte for Artemis.” Arthur had decided to go with the flow. It was difficult to get worked up over this week’s ridiculous plague of Greek gods and demigods. He was really feeling rather chilled out. Regular blow jobs will do that for a man. “Decaf skinny cappuccino, no chocolate, for Hephaestus. Double espresso for Hera. Moccha with an extra shot for Aphrodite. Oh, hello Gwen.”

“Hi Arthur.” She leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. “Could you be a love, and add a black tea, soy milk on the side for Poseidon, please? He’s running a little bit late.”

“Poseidon, is it now?” he said, frowning at Merlin when he came in. He was wearing a Christmas beanie hat with green lights on it that made him look like a complete dork. “You look more like a Christmas tree than the god of the sea.”

Arthur wanted to stride over, relieve Merlin of said hat, and ruffle up his hair so that it was arranged into careful peaks that framed his ridiculous cheekbones. Like the ones that he’d left there this morning. On purpose, to remind him of how it felt to run his fingers through those unruly curls while Merlin panted and moaned around him.

“Yes, Mr Grumpypants, Poseidon it is,” said Merlin, grinning his idiotic, crinkly-eyed grin. The one that made Arthur beam so goofily back that he thought he was in danger of being mistaken for a Disney character. “He is the god of earthquakes as well as the sea, you know. Because I don’t know about you, but the earth moved for me this morning!”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s blush flooded across his face like a tsunami of shame. "Can't we ditch the heroes thing? It's getting a little bit boring."

"Really? All right then." Merlin shrugged and laughed. "No more heroes, any more.”

Arthur laughed helplessly back at him through the song that was playing in his head.

*THE END*

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, sorry. The song title is from "No More Heroes" by The Stranglers. 
> 
> Contact allergy to milk is rare, but can lead to anaphylaxis.
> 
> It's generally a bad idea to throw liquids over people. Arthur knows this, now.


End file.
